


Recompense

by robotfvckers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Baihu Genji, Bodily Fluids, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Sanzang Zenyatta, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Tekhartha Zenyatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: Zenyatta frees an old, bitter god.





	Recompense

**Author's Note:**

> The word clit is used in reference to trans Zenyatta.

****Zenyatta feels its pull long before he sees it on the horizon. With each passing day, meditation comes easier, and the power of the Iris grows, a calmness in his soul as familiar as his brother’s face. He hasn’t seen another human in weeks, and his rations are little more than crumbs. Yet, in the shadows of the temple’s ancient peaks, his discomforts are forgotten.

Water and vines settle into the seams of tile and stone, the veins of the earth reclaiming what was once stolen by mortal hands. There are old pains worn into this place, but dreams too, faded like scars.

The pond lined with lilies and blooms whispers as he passes, the Iris buzzing along his skin, so close. The sound of trickling water fades into vast stillness, his heart a constant, slow patter, the only sound as he enters the temple proper.

Sunshine streams between the greenery through the high windows, long broken, warm patterns of light that catches his own bright, worn robes. The mural before him is a work of true mastery, two elephants carved from a single stone slab, framing a great tiger, its piercing eyes staring into his own. It is hard to look away, a challenge, a threat. Yield, or be devoured.

Hundreds of wishes, prayers, invisible but as obvious as the image of their god, cling to the altar, old, nearly forgotten, but beneath their hopes and devotion exists something stronger still. The power of it answers when he dares to place his hand upon the god’s image.

Zenyatta smiles, bittersweet, old sorrow.

He lets the Iris fill his body as its longed to do for a fortnight, gold burning in his eyes and igniting the nine points along his pate. He breathes out, and the Iris surges from his fingertips, flooding the grooves of the relief, painting all in gold, blooming and growing until there is nothing but light.

* * *

The tiger is gone.

The wonder of it steals his breath: the mysteries of life are such pleasures to behold.

 _Nothing is impossible_ , comes Mondatta’s voice from a lifetime away, and he smiles.

Something flickers in his periphery. He registers softness along his back, flush against his neck, then heat, the gentle, even thump of a pulse. He tilts his head and spots what caught his eye: a striped tail, long and gently flicking.

“Rest.” This time it is not the memory-voice of his brother.

Zenyatta relaxes into the god’s fur, warm and soft, as real as his scars and skin. If this is how he joins the Iris, as safe and comfortable as when he was amongst his siblings, wrapped in a blanket woven by their hands, then he shall count himself fortuitous.

Zenyatta rests.

* * *

A halved coconut and a pile of langsat greet him when he wakes. The sun has given way to moonshine, and Zenyatta is no longer on the temple floor, but on a bedroll in an inner chamber, impossibly old but comfortable. Again the presence of the god draws his gaze, who stares at him in turn, blue eyes bright and unreadable.

“Thank you.” Zenyatta says, taking a slow sip of coconut water. His stomach groans, but patience will save him later. He bites into the langsat to break its skin, and the inner flesh bursts and dampens his fingers. The god’s eyes never leave him as he catches each drop against his tongue.

“You are a strange human.”

Zenyatta peels away a segment of langsat, chewing slowly.

“You are not the first to say so.”

The tiger nods.

“Do you know my name?”

Zenyatta folds into lotus, continuing his meal beneath his watchful gaze.

“You have many. I know you as Baihu.”

The god stares for many seconds, still as the stone he once was. Then his tail flicks.

“Here I am called Genji. Who are you?”

“My name is Zenyatta.” The monk catches a wayward drop with a quick lap of his tongue. “Your devout are long departed. Their methods were cruel.” The monk dips his head. “Please. Do not seek revenge amongst the humans.”

“Presumptuous. I am owed recompense.”

“Then I will do all in my power to convince you.” Zenyatta hums, setting aside the half-eaten fruit.

The tiger considers this. “Will you stay?”

“For a time.”

“But not indefinitely.”

“There is nothing tying you to this place, Genji. You may come and go as you choose.”

Genji flicks his tail. “And if I wished you by my side? Demanded it?”

Zenyatta smiles. “I must continue on my path.”

From one second to the next a man, clad in armor and fur, stands in the place of a god, burning white and blue.

“You beg on behalf of your kind, yet you will abandon me as they did.” The warm fabric of his gloves traces Zenyatta’s chin as he stands in front of the monk. “I have been imprisoned here, and my devout used me as a charm for their every need.”  It satisfies him, how the monk’s thin eyes round when he catches his thumb against his lower lip, glossy with juice. “Serve me, monk. Prove that humans are not the selfish, base creatures who would covet and pray in the same breath.”

Zenyatta’s own breath hitches, the slightest inhalation. Then he closes his eyes and parts his lips, tasting the earthiness of his gloved thumb, saliva glistening on the leather.

* * *

Those same lips grow swollen and slick on his cock. Genji does not remember the last time he was touched, centuries, it must be, and even with the monk’s messy undulations, it matters not, captivated by his pinched brow and painted eye, the texture of his shorn pate against his bare hand, gently urging him down.

Zenyatta had followed every order, undressed him, hesitating only when he removed his helmet. He had traced the scarred planes of his face, eyes bright, tawny cheeks flushing. Genji had expected pity or disgust; instead, the monk utters words he can hardly believe except for the genuine resonance in which they are spoken.

_You are gorgeous in any form._

Now, nestled between his legs and gasping into Genji’s thigh, the god’s desire for this strange human _burns_. Zenyatta has not done this before. Perhaps he lives as a proper monk, but by how he flushes and squirms Genji cannot believe it, not when Zenyatta whimpers at claws teasing down the back of his thin, exposed neck, cupping beneath his ear. Perhaps he allows a quick, perfunctory hand upon himself when fantasies overwhelm; maybe he begs his brothers and sisters for shameful, secretive touches in the darkness of pre-dawn gloom.

Zenyatta interrupts his musings as he sucks his cock between his lips, minding his teeth as Genji had instructed only once. The capricious tongue that had bewitched him laves the underside of his heavy cock, a soft, hot cradle that hugs its inhuman bumps and textures. He can barely wet more than a few inches, especially where it thickens at its base, but _oh_ , how he tries. Genji could watch him suckle and service him for a lifetime, but imprisonment has only made a wild thing more eager. Unquellable.

“Enough.” He says, low as a growl, threaded with heat.

Zenyatta recedes with a wet sound, his exhalation roughened by use. Genji expects the monk to look away, but his dark eyes only stare up at him, warm. Curious. His thumb drags against the base of Zenyatta’s neck, and his gaze lowers finally, lips pursing on a soft sound.

“My skills in this area are...lacking.”  Comes his hoarse whisper, and Genji huffs out a laugh.

The god shakes his head, whatever Zenyatta means to say lost in a heated sigh as Genji urges him up his body. The monk settles at his waist, and Genji nearly lets him, tempting to take him then and there, have him cry on his cock and return the tears he had shed, trapped and used for so long.

Instead, he leans back against stacked pillows, until Zenyatta’s thighs bracket his face and the monk stares down at him, wide-eyed again, pretty as a tapestry.

“I...you need not…”

Genji kisses low on one thigh, gently tugging the monk’s robes apart, dazzled by his freckles and scars and heated skin. At last there is nothing between Genji and his desired, his gaze met with a dripping, swollen mound between dusky legs. He says nothing at all, only plants his hands beneath the tight swell of his ass, urging Zenyatta forward, eyes locked on the monk’s as his tongue, long and rougher than a human’s, catches against his clit.

His reaction is immediate, Zenyatta groaning, hands sinking into Genji’s hair, the other planting hard on his shoulder, foreign words spilling between his lips like a prayer. The monk is sweet, musky in a way that’s almost familiar. His thighs tremble with the second drag of his tongue, light and even, teasing him. One hand grabs his ass, kneading the muscle while the monk catches his needy sounds behind clenched teeth.

“Such a body given to chastity and piousness. A great crime.”

Zenyatta’s laugh is cut short as Genji seals his mouth against him, sucking and licking in quick, taunting swipes, tongue coated in the evidence of the monk’s desire, his own cock aching, wanting between his legs.

“It seems there is a use for it.” His words are shaken, wit stolen by Genji’s mouth.

His thighs clench around Genji’s head as the monk thrusts against his tongue, the hand in his hair tugging, forgetting himself, and Genji preens.

He shifts lower, sliding between his folds, teasing the opening that leaks and begs for him as lovingly as the monks sighs and whimpers, dipping just inside. The hand at his ass keeps Zenyatta flattened to his mouth, slick dripping down his chin and glistening on his throat, unwilling to let him go for even a moment.

The monk stiffens, trembling intensifying as his voice heightens.

“I…” He tugs fruitlessly at Genji’s hair, the other joining to paw at his unkempt curls. “If you..I will…”

His pleas are lost to him, body seizing, and Genji teases his tongue upwards, lashing then sealing around his clit, sucking in quick little bursts. The monk locks around him, grinding against his mouth as he nearly doubles over, one low, broken moan ending with Genji’s name tumbling from his lips. The monk collapses on him, Genji lapping through the aftershocks, the lower half of his face a ruin of fluids.

Genji blinks, but the narrow ring of gold around the monk’s eyes does not dissipate, nor the gleam of his jieba in the dim.

“What are you really…” Genji murmurs, shifting Zenyatta onto his back.

“Only a monk.” Zenyatta says no louder than a whisper, a weak smile tugging swollen lips.

Zenyatta falls into Genji’s shadow as the god slips his hand between his thighs. The loose knot at his waist is the only thing keeping Zenyatta’s robes in place, swathes of skin and chest catching Genji’s eye, beckoning him. Genji’s eyes dip to survey the mess between his legs, gripping the base of his cock as he slides his cockhead against it. The monk sighs, high and quick.

“Hold yourself open,” an order, but a soft one.

Zenyatta hitches his legs up, cupping the back of each knee as if in a trance, gaze finally leaving where their bodies grind and ache and into Genji’s eyes.

The god covers him in an instant, lips finding his own. The monk fists his hands into Genji’s hair and returns the kiss, hard and desperate, legs twisting around his middle. _This_ is something he has done before, tongue twisting against Genji’s, his teeth nipping his bottom lip, tearing a hard groan from his throat. Genji catches his cock against his sweltering body, and the monk pulls back just enough to whisper into the scant space between.

“Genji, please.”

Zenyatta arches, soft and pliant and open; a single hot, eager press has the crown sinking inside, forcing a groan from them both, the monk sucking marks into the sweat-slick flesh beneath Genji’s ear.

He rocks as slowly as he can, slower than Zenyatta needs as his hands scrabbles along Genji’s back, ankles locked and urging him forward, harder, deeper. How he wants to claim him forever, and the thought of Zenyatta leaving forces his hips rougher. The monk seizes, Genji’s name spilling from him again and again as the human convulses and clenches around him, the flash of gold he emits momentarily blinding. Coming _again_ , and Genji grits his teeth, nearly at his end when he has only begun. He fucks in long, even thrusts until Zenyatta slackens around him, mouth half-parted and wet.

“I am not done with you.” Genji says.

Zenyatta grins, eyes glazed and nearly closed.

The god locks his hands around the monk’s thighs, kneeling and tugging him up his body, Zenyatta helpless to do anything but take what Genji gives him. The monk bites his knuckles, sobbing into his hand as Genji forces himself to the hilt, his cock the barest outline within the monk’s stomach again and again.

He should fill him, breed him up, swell his stomach with his godhood, but he hesitates. Wanting but resisting.

“Where?” Genji bites, and he hopes its enough, that Zenyatta in his daze will understand as his thrusts double down, wild with the tiger’s call bright in his mind.

“Not inside.” Zenyatta whines, low and weak.

Genji tugs out of him with a pained grunt; a single stroke of his own hand is enough to spill over the monk’s fluttering stomach, his dark gaze watching as Genji curls over himself and paints him with seed.

He can only stare and shiver through it, lost, razed by the monk’s shaky expression as he dips his fingers through the thick, opaque spend coating him. Then the monk traces his fingers over his swollen clit, circling its edge with a bewildered whimper. Genji shoves his hand away, lapping at the mess, his own cum bitter on his tongue as he works the monk through a final, shivery orgasm, the ghost of which has him boneless and weak beneath the god, a whisper of gold light.

“Insatiable.” Genji’s voice is unrecognizable in its roughness.

Zenyatta only hums, perhaps he cannot do much else, dragging his clean hand over his face and squirming as Genji begins to lick along his stomach. He pushes at Genji’s head, but the god will not be deterred, cleaning and claiming until there is only slick skin.

“A cloth would suffice.” He says with a tinge of humor.

“There is power in it. Become old enough, and nothing will shame you.”

“Is that so.” Zenyatta peers at him with one eye. “You do appear quite shameless.”

“How can a monk look so wicked and pleased?”

“I am a strange one, remember.”

Zenyatta opens his arms, and Genji tucks himself into his side, sucking a mark beneath his ear to match the one Zenyatta gave him, throbbing gently now that the ardor has ebbed.

In the daze between dreams and reality, the god feels as warm and furred as his namesake, even as he maintains human form, and the sensation lulls consciousness from Zenyatta once more.

* * *

The monk departs the temple the next day.

He goes alone but for the great tiger who carries him on his back.

Zenyatta does not think he could do much walking anyway.


End file.
